


The Mystery of the Magician's Nephew

by urcool91



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Annoyingly Vague Aslan, Awkward Engagements, Book: The Magician's Nephew, Bromance/Close Friendship, Case Fic, Come on, Crossover, Gen, It was practically begging to be written, Magic Revealed, Major Character Injury, Male Jewelry, Means an Awko Taco, Post-Empty House, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urcool91/pseuds/urcool91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after his return, Mr. Sherlock Holmes becomes involved in the mysterious disappearance of Miss Polly Plummer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Case

I have no intention, for reasons that will soon be obvious, of ever publishing what was, perhaps, the most singular and fantastic of my friend Sherlock Holmes’ exploits. Indeed, he gave his solemn word to two of the principle members of this case to never allow its publication.  The facts of the matter, therefore, will be laid down for my own benefit, though if one were to chance upon it they would find the most satisfying exhibition of Holmes’ abilities, not to mention a unique and thrilling tale.

It was mid-June of 1894, one of the most miserable and wet summers in recent memory. The sky seemed perpetually overcast, matching the bleak mood which had fallen over our flat on Baker Street since my friend’s return. I may say plainly, for this will never be made public, that, after the excitement brought to the neighborhood by Colonel Moran had died down, the frustrated and hurt feelings that up to that point I had forgotten made themselves known and, though I did my utmost to hide them, created a distinctly tense atmosphere between Holmes and myself.

Holmes had been curled in his armchair that entire day, moping and creating a horrible din on his violin, so that I had decided to go for a stroll despite the disagreeable weather. I came back invigorated, but when I opened the door I saw that Holmes was entertaining a woman, a client I presumed, in a hideously gaudy gown. I was making to back out of the room when Holmes looked up as noticed me standing there.

“Ah, Watson, you have come at just the right time,” said he. His cheeks were flushed and his grey eyes already glistening with the familiar fever of a promising case.

“Perhaps I had better wait outside.” No sooner had I said those words than he had sprung from his seat by the fire, closed the door behind me, and was leading me to the chair he had previously been sitting in. I blinked, quite shocked by his energy after the languid morning.

“Besides,” he said evenly, sitting across me and turning his attention back to the woman on the sofa, “we have only but started. Mrs. Plummer, may I introduce you to my intimate friend and associate, Doctor John Watson, who has been of immeasurable help to me on all my many cases?”

“It is good to meet you, Doctor,” she said in a low, husky voice. “I will gladly accept the help of anyone Mr. Holmes speaks of so highly, for as you will soon see I am in a desperate state.” Holmes’ eyes were half-closed and his fingers steepled themselves beneath his chin.

“Pray continue,” said he, “and be exact upon the details.”

“I fear there are very few details to be told,” said Mrs. Plummer. “My husband, George Plummer, is an established banker, and therefore we are quite well off. We moved with our daughter, Polly, to our current house some seven years ago. It is on the corner of Hawthorne Street, just a short walk away from King’s Cross Station. On the far end of our street are the Hawkings, then the Marshalls, then the Cricks, then a house empty on account of the drains, and directly to our right are the Ketterleys, a brother and a sister. Until recently there have been no other children on our street, making my Polly a lonely child. This trouble started, I believe, when the Ketterteys’ nephew, Digory Kirke, came to spend the summer with them and decided to introduce himself to Polly.”

“You disapprove of this boy?” Holmes murmured.

“Such a nasty, dirty little rascal never lived! I would be ashamed to have him living in my house.” Holmes smiled softly.

“Indeed. Please do continue with your narrative.” Mrs. Plummer took a calming breath before doing as Holmes requested.

“As I said, I don’t approve of Kirke, but Polly was taken with him no matter how I tried to dissuade her. So he’s been about all summer, getting her in and out of trouble and giving me an awful fright. Today they came in almost immediately and went up to what Polly likes to call her ‘Smugglers’ Cave.’” My friend held up a finger in question. “It’s only a bit of our attic without any floor, only plaster. She’s put old boards across the rafters and has a chair and a few others things up there.”

“Ah, good. You’ve made several things less muddled.” She looked quite confused by Holmes, but she continued with her narrative.

“Today they were up there quite a long time, almost five hours, but I thought nothing of it until dinner was laid. I called for Polly, but there was no answer. Thinking she had not heard me, I sent the maid up to fetch her. The mad came down distressed and told me that Polly was not to be found. I looked through every room in the house, as well as the garden, but my daughter is gone. I don’t understand it! She could not conceivably sneak past me and the maid!” Perhaps it was but my imagination, but Mrs. Plummer seemed more irritated than distressed over the disappearance of her daughter. Holmes caught my eye and seemed to agree with my assessment.

“Mrs. Plummer, are there any trees near your house?” said Holmes.

“No, there is only one tree in our garden, and it is quite close to the Ketterley fence.”

“Are there windows or other ways she could have slipped off?”

“Our windows are bolted like any respectable household!” Holmes rubbed his hands together, feeling the thrill that came to us both when he got a case, I knew.

“Well, Mrs. Plummer, I believe the only thing to do is for me to go there myself. Watson will, of course, come also. Give me an hour to put my affairs in order, and then I shall see what I can do about your problem.” Mrs. Plummer gave us a swift nod and left. I looked over at Holmes.

“Why are you waiting an hour?” I asked. Holmes looked at me.

“Because, my dear fellow, there is always a chance that the young lady will show all too soon and spoil our fun.”

“Fun? That poor woman must be terrified, and all you can think of is your fun?”

“Spare me, Watson,” said he. “You have as low an opinion as I do of our dear Mrs. Plummer, perhaps even a trifle lower.” I conceded, and Holmes took to his pipe for nearly three quarters of an hour. I gazed out the window and wondered at the strange case that had chanced our way.

“Watson,” Holmes said suddenly, “I’m feeling rather uneasy about this case. Several features seem to point toward danger of the most sinister and deadly kind.”

“What are you suggesting, Holmes?” said I.

“I don’t mean to suggest anything. I simply think that perhaps you shouldn’t come after all.” I turned to my friend, astonished. He had only made that suggestion once or twice before, and only then because of the Napoleon of crime, Professor Moriarty.

“Come now, Holmes,” I said, attempting a jovial tone. “You know that I am not one to shy away from the dangers of this earth, especially, my dear friend, when you are involved in them.” Holmes shook his head.

“That may be so, in fact, I know it to be so. That is what troubles me. I have heard strange rumors about a certain Andrew Ketterley.” Try as I might, I could not make my companion say any more about the case or the rumors he had heard. He was unusually quiet and brooding as we left, even for him, and was very firm about me bringing my revolver. Perhaps Holmes’ strange behavior was the reason that I was not at all easy in my mind as we started that fateful investigation.


	2. Investigation

My friend did not engage me in conversation as we rode in our cab to Hawthorne Street. When we arrived he paid the driver and swept up to the front door without a word, rapping the knocker sharply. A maid opened the door and left us to study the waiting-room. It was rich and grand but lacked in taste, and it suffered from the touch of a decorator who cared more for the number of pounds spent than for any actual style.

“Marvelous,” Holmes murmured, “simply marvelous.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree with you there, old fellow,” said I. He looked over at me and let out a short bark of laughter.

“I wasn’t commenting on the taste, my dear Watson, which I find as reprehensible as you,” said he. “Have I ever mentioned how the dress and decoration choices of a person can help build an accurate idea of a person’s character? It is especially true in this case. George Plummer is a busy, successful banker, so it is safe to say that this miscarriage of fashion is his wife’s doing. From what we can see here she is aristocratic, with tastes far richer than her husband can afford. But look! Isn’t it curious?”

“What?” I said. Holmes was prancing about, searching for something, I knew not what. Finally he returned to my side.

“Not a sign of a child here, Watson. Not one. This case is getting stranger by the second. Either Mrs. Plummer has lied to us about having a daughter or…” Holmes did not finish that thought, but I have no doubt that many dark possibilities occurred in that formidable mind.

“I have no doubt that young Miss Plummer exists,” I said, “for her mother’s emotions, whatever they might have been, were not faked.”

“I find myself at a disadvantage to you, my dear Watson, for the fair sex is your department,” said Holmes. “For what it might be worth, I agree. The question remains however: why is there not a sign of Miss Polly Plummer?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. What do you say, Holmes?” Holmes muttered darkly and would not answer. I was about to inquire again when Mrs. Plummer came into the waiting room. She had, I noted, switched her dress for an even more odious one and had powdered her nose. She did not seem like a woman who had just lost her daughter.

“Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson,” she said, nodding at us.

“Doctor,” said Holmes. She blinked.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“It is Dr. Watson or Captain if you are keen on such things.”

“Well,” she said, disgruntled. “Shall I get the maid to give you a tour of the house or--?”

“I believe that will be unnecessary,” said Holmes. “I’d prefer to look at Miss Polly’s hideaway.” Mrs. Plummer’s eyebrows rose.

“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” said she. “It’s right upstairs, in the attic.”

“Marvelous,” said Holmes. “You need not follow, madam. I’m sure we can see ourselves up. Come along, Watson.” Holmes swept up the stairs, and I followed.

“What a strange woman!” I exclaimed as soon as I was certain we could not be heard by her. Holmes gave a low but genuine chuckle.

“Indeed, Watson,” he said. “With all the airs she puts on, you would think she was the Queen, but she has shown herself to have no real manners or taste. Imagine forgetting the title of some important foreign minister. You would have a war on your hands!” Holmes sunk deep into thought, so I refrained from speaking. His glinting slate-blue eyes roved about the stairwell as we went up, resting first here then there, noticing everything. I smiled slightly. It was pleasant to revert to our old routine after so many years of me thinking that my life would never find any kind of a balance again. For now I was content to watch as my friend seemed to come to some conclusion that I didn’t yet know.

“A veritable prison, Watson,” he muttered darkly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ll notice that, as she said, all the windows are barred. I wouldn’t bother to try them, old boy, for even my strength couldn’t break through such iron. Only one way in or out, then: the front door. We’ve seen just now how impossible it would be to sneak out there, for I observed that the waiting room was locked until Mrs. Plummer came in. Permission would have to be asked for young Miss Plummer to go out.”

“This is the most curious house.”

“Most curious indeed,” Holmes said, almost to himself. He looked as though he was about to say more, but something caught his eye. “Hullo! What’s this?” He held the object aloft as though in victory. I leaned in eagerly to see it.

“It’s only a doll, Holmes,” I said, but my companion wasn’t listening to me. His eyes had lit up like someone had gotten him a particularly interesting serial killer for Christmas.

“Proof, Watson! Legitimate proof!” I was still in the dark as to why my friend was so excited, but I followed him up the remaining steps and into the attic of the house. Holmes, after sniffing around a moment, noticed a little door ajar. He opened it cautiously, gesturing for me to follow him in.

It was indeed as Mrs. Plummer had said and quite a bit more. Light filtered down through the roof, giving the snug corner a dream-like quality. Bits of board and old chair seats had been spread between the rafters in an ingenious way, and I found that it easily held my weight. A chair was there, along with old apple cores and adventure books and ginger bottles. Holmes had a gleaming cashbox open on his lap and was rifling through the papers contained within.

“Precious little to be found here, Watson,” Holmes remarked. “I have no doubt that the girl was here last, but she does seem to have vanished without a trace along with the Kirke boy.” I strained my eyes to see farther down the brick-lined tunnel.

“I don’t see any way forward except this tunnel, and not even a child-“ I said. Holmes’ eyes lit up.

“Ha!” he said. “Digory Kirke!”

“Holmes?”

“Polly Plummer is a highly inquisitive and adventurous girl, just look at these titles. _Treasure Island,_ even your own _Study in Scarlet_. But she prefers to stay out of the actual adventuring, instead writing this story that is even more romanticized than those which you write. But Digory Kirke is a different matter. He initiated their friendship and I have no doubt that he was behind this, too.”

“So you’re saying that you agree with Mrs. Plummer?” said I.

“Not in the way she expects.” Holmes picked up a candle stub and lit it. He held it out into the tunnel. “How far would you say this goes, Watson?”

“Down the row, I suppose,” I replied. “Holmes, are you saying that they went down there?”

“Well, I’m sure the abandoned house next to young Mr. Kirke’s has some allure to bored children. Now, if we could just find their sums…” Holmes, utterly disregarding safety, flung himself to the floor with candle still in hand and began grasping through the papers for something.

“Their sums?”

“Yes, of course,” said Holmes, not looking up from his task. “They’re intelligent. They certainly wouldn’t have just rushed in without so much as knowing how many rafters they would have to traverse. I would simply figure it myself, but being children it is probably that they got the answer wrong. So we can’t risk- Hullo!” My friend’s excitement bade me to kneel beside him. In his thin hands was a sheet with many scribbles and crossings-off, but at the bottom were two of the same number, written by different childish hands. “They both got 64 in the end,” said Holmes, sounding disappointed. “I would estimate nearly twice that many. And they seemed so clever, too. Ah, well. Ready your revolver, old chap.”

“Whatever for?” I said as I did as Holmes ordered.

“If 64, as I believe, would only get them halfway there, then that would put them in a perfect position to enter the house of Mr. Andrew Ketterley,” he said. I felt a chill run up my spine. The only person I had heard Holmes talk about with such earnest gravity before was Professor James Moriarty.

 

Holmes and I crept down the tunnel, our candles throwing long shadows on the brick and plaster. For a few minutes the only sounds to be heard were our shoes on the beams and our own harsh breathing. Perhaps twenty rafters in Holmes turned to me.

“I suppose that I ought to tell you of the rumors that have had me so worried,” said he.

“I admit I have been curious. The way you talk of him, I’d say you see him as a threat to rival Professor Moriarty.”

“I wouldn’t say so much, but he is extremely dangerous in his own way. There are rumors, Watson, of things he does that are unnatural, even supernatural. Some say that he has sold his soul to the Devil.”

“Holmes, surely you cannot believe such a load of tosh!” said I.

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he sold his soul, but no one can deny that strange things seem to follow him no matter where he goes.”

“So what is your opinion? You can’t really believe in magic and witches and things of that sort. It doesn’t exist.”

“At best he is a doddery old fool with horrendous bad luck; at worst he’s a magician with malicious intent. I prefer to be prepared for the worst, so keep your gun at the ready, my man.” I was flabbergasted. Here was Holmes, the perfect reasoned, the ice-cold analytic, nervous over some superstitious rumors about magic, of all things. I would have said something, some attempt to have him explain what exactly had convinced him of such queer things, when the light from our candles fell over a small wooden door. It did not have a handle, but there was a catch. Holmes quickly sprung it and let the door creak open.

Behind the door was not an attic, or at least not the type of attic we had expected. Instead there were sturdy wooden chairs, a dark stained desk, a rich oriental rug, and a roaring fire. The walls were covered with shelves of books. The room was deserted, but the door at the opposite end was slightly open, promising an interruption at any time. The most curious feature of this curious scene was the tray of rings on a rosewood table that took up most of the room. The rings were in pairs of yellow and green, and from the moment you laid your eyes on them you could not look away.

“Don’t touch _anything_ , Watson,” Holmes hissed, and then he entered the room, his eyes roving around. But my friend had taken no more than two steps in when a stealthy tread was heard on the stair. Holmes froze, and I pulled my Browning from my pocket and pointed it toward the door. For a few tense moments the only sounds were the soft shuffling outside the door, and then it opened to reveal a man.

“Mr. Andrew Ketterley!” Holmes exclaimed. The muscles in his jaw had tightened and a fire leapt into his grey-blue eyes at the sight of the gentleman. In truth, there was nothing much impressive about Andrew Ketterley. He was almost as tall as Holmes, yes, and even more lean and angled, but while my companion brought to mind a lithe greyhound, Mr. Ketterley looked more like an emaciated mutt. His eyes were dark and sunken but very bright, and his hear was an unruly grey mop. For a moment his mouth gaped, but he quickly recovered himself and was grinning.

“Well, well. Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said in a reedy tenor. “You have no idea how happy I was to hear of your survival in the Strand. Won’t you sit?” Holmes nodded at me to put my revolver away and sat slowly in one of the chairs, his eyes never leaving Mr. Ketterley. I sat beside my friend, and Ketterley sat across us, looking at Holmes almost hungrily.

“Have you happened to see two children?” said Holmes in a quiet voice. Andrew Ketterley laughed nervously.

“They are elsewhere. Don’t worry; with luck they’ll soon return.”

“Luck?” Ketterley waved his hand airily.

“It is on no concern of yours, Mr. Holmes. I had my nephew’s full consent. What I am quite interested in,” he said, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands, “is this magnificent chance to talk with you.”

“Why would you want to talk to me?” Holmes said.

“Because you are like me, of course!” My friend’s lips twitched. “Oh, you smile, sir, but I assure you that I do not jest. Genius recognizes genius, after all, and you are undoubtedly a genius. Ever since I saw your monogram, ‘The Science of Deduction,’ I knew, and the stories published by that friend of yours, simple man though he is, only served to make me admire you more. So you see, Mr. Holmes, I have longed for this day.”

“I’m afraid I cannot say the same,” said Holmes coldly. “Now, I will ask my question in even plainer terms: What have you done with the children?”

“I have done nothing to them. They sent themselves to the Other Place.”

“I suppose they knew they’d be going somewhere, rather than just putting on a pretty bauble.” Ketterley began to wring his hands.

“You are a sharp man, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “Digory knew he’d go to Another World when he picked up the Outward Ring. I told him of my grand experiment, and he agreed to go. Surely you’ll understand, Mr. Holmes, being a man of science and wisdom yourself.”

“Science? What you are doing is as far removed from science as emotions are from logic. You use this vague label of Science to justify the results of meddling with something far greater than yourself.” Mr. Ketterley’s chair clattered to the ground. My hand went instinctively for my gun.

“Enough!” cried Andrew Ketterley, twin spots of color on his cheeks. “You have wounded me enough, sir. You have no idea the lengths I have gone and the sacrifices I have made to bring myself to this final stage of my grand experiment.”

“I may not know, but I am sure it is too far for the law’s liking,” replied Holmes. All color faded from Mr. Ketterley’s face.

“I am an upstanding citizen of the Crown,” said he. “I have not broken any law. I pay all my dues. What I do on my own time is my own business, not yours or any other meddlers.”

“Ah, that is where you are mistaken,” said Holmes, raising a finger. “Your doings were made my business from the moment your actions contributed to the disappearance of Miss Polly Plummer.”

“Oh, she’s most likely perfectly all right,” scoffed Mr. Ketterley. ‘She and Digory will come back, tell me all about the Other Place, and-“

“You mean you have no idea where you have sent them or what dangers they might encounter there!” I said, shocked out of my silence.

“Idiot man, of course not!” said he. “I am a great scholar, the magician, the adept, who is _doing_ the experiment. Of course I needed subjects to do it _on_ , and I found two convenient ones in my dirty little nephew and his preposterous friend.”

“On the contrary,” said Holmes quietly, “I’m sure that my dear friend Watson can tell you hundreds of times I have given him a fright when I poisoned or did some other unacceptable thing to myself for the sake of a case. If a detective can experiment on himself, surely too can an amateur magician.” For a moment Mr. Ketterley looked furious, but then he smoothed his hair back and gave a small laugh. He stood, walked over to the trays of rings, and picked up one of the yellow ones in his gloved hand.

“Perhaps you are correct,” he said. Then he turned and threw the ring towards my friend. I threw myself in front of Holmes and felt my hand close over the ring. The world around me became a muddled mass of color and I was gone from the room.


	3. Somewhere in the Middle

I burst from a pool of water and drag myself over to the edge, breathing heavily from the shock. “Holmes!” I called out. “Holmes, where are you, old fellow?” I had faced many dangers, both before then and after, but I had never felt so strong a fear as I did then. My friend, only recently returned to me, with nowhere to be seen, and I had no idea where I was.

I was hardly capable of rational thought. I stood and stumbled, my weak leg giving out beneath me. I can myself on the broad trunk of a tree and leaned there for a moment to catch my breath and sorts out my agitated thoughts.

I looked up at last and gave, awed at the site that surrounded me. As far as they are conceived there were trees so tolerably fee they blacked out the sky, allowing only a dim green light to filter through their branches. Every few yards were pools like the one I had just drag myself out of. When my heart began to beat normally again I noticed the silence. There were no birds, animals, or wind. All was peaceful and calm. I felt as though, if I looked hard enough, I could see the trees growing skyward.

I allowed myself to slide down the tree trunk. For long time I simply sat there, taking in the forest, then I leaned back my head and closed my eyes. I may have fallen asleep, but the next thing I knew was a frantic voice shouting my name.

“Watson!” It shouted.” Watson, for God’s sake, wake up!” I opened my eyes. “Thank God.” It was a familiar man.

“I believe I’ve seen you before,” I said.

“My dear Watson, do you not remember?” Said he.

“I vaguely recall to mind, like us, running after criminals and breaking into houses. It’s quite absurd. Perhaps it was only a dream.”

“No, it’s quite true, I assure you. We are flatmates, you see, living in London. I solve cases and you’re my biographer. We were on one when you were sent here: the disappearance of Miss Polly Plummer, it should be an interesting entry in your scribbles. Mr. Ketterley threw one of his rings at me and you caught it.”

“Mr. Ketterley! I remember now, Holmes! Is there any way for us to get back?” Holmes smiled.

“Fortuitously, yes,” he said, bringing to green rings from his pocket.” These should take us back, in theory. Take off your yellow ring and put in your left pocket.” I obeyed.” Here you are, old fellow. I suspect that we would have to jump back in with our greens on to get back.”

“But are we going?” said I.

“Not right away, not without the children. They have been here, obviously, and marked this pool as the one leading back to London. I can only imagine that they’ve gone off to explore the other worlds.”

“Other worlds? There are others?”

“Of course there are. What you think the other pools are for, bathing? Now it’s just a matter of deducing which they chose to start with.” I looked around at the miles of identical forest with pools of the same size based exactly the same distance apart. It seems to me that the only thing to do was to guess or to wait for the children themselves come back, and I said as much to Holmes. He only laughed.

“For shame, old fellow. Have I not taught you anything? Where humans have gone there is always a path to deduce. The situation simply has outside factors that make it more difficult to come to our conclusion.” Holmes rubbed his hands together and began nosing around like a bloodhound. First he took out his pocket magnifier and knelt beside the patch that the children had cut out of the carpet like grass. Then he crawled all around the pool, knows almost touching the ground, peer you have the signs only he could see and read. I could only watch in amazement as he worked his way to the edge of the nearby pool on the same side as the cutaway side and pointed into its depths.

“There,” he said, panting bit.” They went in there, Lord knows why.”

“Fascinating, Holmes!” I said.” How do we get in?” Holmes’ mouth twitched, as it always did when I praised the work he loved so well, but there remain in his eye and then the stoop of his shoulders and anxiety that I cannot name.

“Simple,” said he.” We put on our green rings.” We both stared into the pool, unwilling to admit that neither of us really wanted to make the leap yet both knowing the content of the others mind.” Well,” I said, clearing my throat,” I’d better go first, then.” Holmes’ head snapped around to stare at me.

“Of course you won’t be first,” said he.

“Why not? I am, after all, the one with the gone.” Holmes held out a hand.” No, Holmes, I’m not giving it to you.”

“Now you’re just being stubborn,” said Holmes.” You do have a habit of throwing yourself into dangerous situations without a second thought, Watson. First Afghanistan and now this.”

“Holmes, the sooner I go to the sooner we can continue on the case,” said I.” Considering the fact that you are stupid enough not to bring so much of the cane…”

“Yes, yes, very impressive speech, my dear Watson,” said Holmes.” You are not going… Wherever it is alone.”

“If I am not, then you are not, either,” said.

“So we are at an impasse,” said Holmes.

“Indeed.” The corner of my mouth twitched up.” As either of us even considered the possibility of going in together?”

“Apparently not.” The absurdity of such a simple solution struck Holmes as funny and soon he and I were laughing together. But we quickly got control of ourselves, and Holmes entwined our hands. We put on the green rings and jumped into the pool.


	4. Jadis

Downward we rushed, but we were not drowning. The darkness faded into a mass of whirling shapes that gradually grew lighter. Our feet hit hard upon solid ground and our knees buckled beneath us. When we looked back up the new world around us had come in to focus.

“By God!” breathed Holmes as he looked around us. I nodded. It was not a good place that we had found ourselves in. The sun gave off a dull red light that, though it did not flicker, seemed as though it could die at any moment. The sky was dark blue, almost black. Walls rose round the courtyard we were in, full of pane-less windows and yawning black arches. The red stone that everything was made out of was old and crumbling, and a few pillars had collapsed and filled the doorways with rubble.

“Good Lord,” said Holmes, no louder than before. He was turning, twitching, and I turned with him, if only because our hands still gripped each other. The silence was an imposing, unpeaceful thing that seemed to want to choke all life from the world. So far as I could see there were no vermin, nor insects, nor plants of any kind. Even the cracks of the paving stones beneath our feet were devoid of grass or moss.

Suddenly Holmes froze. “Do you hear that?” said he. I cocked my head and after a moment heard a faint, sweet note like that of a bell. My heart instantly began to pound my chest.

“The children!” I said. Holmes nodded and began to run, I struggling to keep up with his longer stride. The sound continued, growing louder every passing moment, though whether because of our increased proximity or its own volume I had no idea. The peal ended and Holmes redoubled his pace, ignoring the masonry crumbling around us.

We were now in the great Hall lined with figures that you would think for a moment were real, dressed in wonderfully fine dresses and jewels. They were of no concern to Holmes and me. About halfway down the hall two children sat huddled by pedestal holding the bell that I can only presume made the beautiful, terrible sound that had carried over the courtyards. Holmes and I ran to them.

“Are you two all right?” I said. Polly was glaring at Digory.

“There! I hope you’re satisfied now,” she said, rubbing her wrist.

“Well, it’s all over, anyway,” said Digory. Holmes stared toward the undamaged end of the hall, the far end where the figures and, and shook his head, looking quite pale.

“Oh, no,” he said, “it’s only just beginning.” He pointed to the object of his gaze, a tall, beautiful woman that sets near the end of the row, the final figure. As we all watched a shiver seemed to go all through her, and she stood.

It was clear to all of us that she was a great queen, but something about her eyes and the hard curve of her lips warned me of a proud, cruel nature. She looked around her imperiously and saw us beside the bell. In a flash she had strode over to us, making even Holmes seem a dwarf by comparison.

“Who has awakened me? Who has broken the spell?” she asked.

“I think it must have been me,” said Digory.

“You!” said the Queen. “Surely not! You are only a child, without the drop of Royal or noble blood in your veins.”

“As though such a thing could be measured in drops,” said my friend. The Queen turned and studied him, flicking her gaze up and down his lithe body, taking in his balled fists, his defiant posture, and his slate-colored eyes sparkling. She gave him a cold smile.

“Now here is a noble specimen!” she proclaimed. “It was surely by your hand that I was awoken. Now, tell me, where is the land which you rule? Why have you chosen to awaken Queen Jadis?”

“He doesn’t rule anywhere,” said Polly. “We came here from another world, by Magic.”

“Is this true?” said Queen Jadis, still to Holmes.

“As a matter of speaking, yes,” said he.

“Ah! All the better. You, a Magician and King, will make a most worthy husband for me.” I snorted and Holmes looked aghast.

“What?” he said.

“It wasn’t him who brought us here, it was my Uncle Andrew,” said Digory, sounding rather put out at not having center stage in the proceedings. At that moment, near us but out of our sight, there came a roar and a crash of falling masonry, and the floor shook.

“There is great peril here,” said Queen Jadis. “The whole palace is breaking up. If we do not hurry we shall be buried under the ruin.” She reached out, quick as my friend’s thought, and grabbed Holmes’ and Digory’s wrists, pulling them out of the hall. Polly and I followed at a trot, hearing behind us all the time parts of the palace collapsing.

“What a terrible woman!” Polly whispered to me. “Look at how she is yanking at their arms! I’d get my yellow ring, but we can’t leave them behind.”

“If all else fails, I have my revolver,” said I, keeping one hand on my old favorite and the other hovering over the pocket that held my own yellow ring. As though in response to my threat a huge arch came thundering down only a moment after we passed through. After that we did not dare to speak, not even in whispers.

We came at last to a different hall, both larger and loftier than the one in which Digory had awoken Jadis. Giant doors dominated the far end. They were a dead black, made of some metal not found in our world, and I felt as though if I looked too long I would be lost in their darkness. They were fastened with great bars too high and heavy to lift.

Queen Jadis released Digory and Holes. My friend drew back from her toward me, rubbing his wrist. There was an emotion almost like fear in his eyes. Digory, on the other hand, seemed awed by the powerful woman. She raised her arm and straightened to her full height, rigid. Then she said something in a horrid, black language, and thrust her hand toward the doors. Those mighty doors trembled and then crumbled away into dust.

“Whew!” whistled Digory.

“My God!” whispered Holmes. The fear in his eyes was very apparent now as he looked at the heap on the threshold.

“Have you or your magicians have power such as mine?” said Jadis, looking smug.

“No,” said Holmes. “My power is more subtle and refined than your parlor tricks.” A scowl passed over Queen Jadis’s face, and she firmly seized my companion’s hand again.

“I shall learn more of your magic later,” she said. “For now, remember what you have seen. This is what happens to things, and to people, who do not adhere to my wishes.”

Light greater than any we had yet seen in this world poured through the empty doorway, and Queen Jadis led us out into the open air onto a high terrace, the landscape spread before us like one of Holmes’ beloved maps. The wind that blew around us was cold, far too cold, and somehow stale.

Low in front of us was the sun, a giant, red, dying thing, and to its left was a single bright star. Spread below us as far as the eye could reach was a vast city, with all the temples, towers, palaces, pyramids, and bridges that that would entail. The edifices cast long shadows in the light of the withered sun. There was a gulch running through the city that once must have been a river, but it was dry now and filled with grey dust.

“Look well on that which no eyes shall ever see again,” said Queen Jadis. “Such was Charn, that great city, the city of the King of Kings, the wonder of the world, perhaps of all worlds. Do you rule any city as great as this, oh King?” Holmes did not answer. “Ah, but our kingdoms shall merge at our marriage.”

“Where are all the people?” said Holmes. Jadis heaved a dramatic sigh.

“It is silent now. But I have stood here when the whole air was full of the noises of Charn. I have stood here, in that time so near the end, when the roar of battle rose from every street and the river of Charn ran red.” She paused, surveying the now desolate landscape. “All in one moment one woman blotted it out forever.”

“You,” said Holmes. “But why?”

“It was my sister’s fault,” said Queen Jadis. “She drove me to it. At any moment I was ready to make peace- yes, and to spare her life too- if only she would yield me the throne. But she would not. Instead she broke the oath not to use Magic, so what could I do? Fool! As if she did not know that I had more Magic than she! She even knew that I had the secret of the Deplorable Word. Did she think, the weakling, that I would not use it?”

“So all of this wrought by one word,” my friend murmured, looking over Charn forlornly, cold wind blowing his dark hair into his eyes.

“I fought to overcome her by other means. I poured out the blood of my armies like water-“

“Beast!” I said under my breath. Queen Jadis rounded toward me, fury twisting her beautiful features.

“Quiet, you common fool, and don’t speak about that of which you have no knowledge, no hope to understand! For three days I watched from this very spot until the last of my soldiers had fallen, and the accursed woman, my sister, had led her rebels halfway up the great stairs that lead from the city to this terrace. I waited till we were so close we could see one another’s faces. Only then did I speak the Deplorable Word. A moment later I was the only living thing beneath the sun.”

“And what of the people?” I said. “It’s bad enough that you throw soldiers’ lives away, but to kill all the men, women, and _children_ that had never done you harm? They were _people_.”

“I was the Queen. They were all _my_ people. What else were they there for but to do my will?”

“It was rather hard luck on them all the same,” said Digory, backing away from the Queen. Jadis surveyed the three of us, Polly, Digory, and I, with disgust.

“I had forgotten that you are only commoners. How should you understand the affairs of State?”

“I understand enough to know that your way is no way to rule,” said I. Queen Jadis snarled and lunged forward, grabbing my by the throat with an impossibly strong hand and lifting me up. “Now!” I gasped, plunging my hand into my left pocket.


	5. All Roads Lead to London

Once again our heads came out of the Pool and the sunny quiet, all the more precious after the ruin of Charn, seemed to engulf us. Given the chance I would have lost myself in it again and welcomed the unthinking peacefulness. But there was no time for reveling in the beauty and life around us, for we were not alone. Queen Jadis, the Witch, was still clutching my throat in her steel grip.

But here her grip weakened, and she no longer held me aloft. In the wood Queen Jadis looked quite different, so pale that she had hardly any of her beauty left. She stooped and panted as though the air stifled her, and despite all we had seen and heard it was very hard to feel afraid of her now.

“Off him! Unhand him, I say!” shouting Holmes. The both of us struggled with her for a moment. We were stronger and in a moment she had to let go. I stumbled, taking in deep gulps of air and massaging my throat. Jadis reeled back, panting, with a look of terror most often seen in the eyes of a small animal cornered by a pack of dogs.

“Quick!” said Polly. “Let’s change rings and jump into the home pool.”

“An excellent suggestion,” I said. “Digory, Holmes, are you ready?” Digory nodded, but Holmes made no sight that he had heard me. He was staring at the queen with an expression of utmost loathing on his face.

“Watson, have you your revolver?” he said at last. I took it out but did not place it in his expectant hand.

“Holmes, are you certain?” I said. “She is a woman and, most importantly, not a threat here.” Holmes’ jaw clenched.

“She is a monster, Watson. You don’t have to do much reading between the lines to discover the truth.” The Witch’s face transformed into horror.

“No! No! Mercy, please!” she cried in a weak voice. “Take me with you. Make me your Queen as was planned.”

“I’ll give you mercy,” said Holmes. “Watson, your revolver.”

“Holmes, you can’t,” I said. “Leave her here, weakened and alone, if you must, but don’t kill her in cold blood.” Holmes stared at me a moment, looking horribly wild and ferocious, then his gaze softened and he let out a short bark of a laugh.

“Good old Watson,” he said. “If there’s one thing I can count on you for, it is being a fixed moral compass for the most foolish and wisest of men.” He laughed again. “Put away your gun, Captain. Let us go back to our old war, free of magic and pools and awkward marriages. Come along, children.” Though the children were no doubt puzzled by this little speech, they obeyed and switched to their green rings.

“You can’t mean to leave me in this place! It shall kill me as surely as any sword!” Holmes looked back at her.

“Should I care if you live or die?” he said, and then we jumped into the home pool. Digory gasped and began to kick and struggle and I made sure to keep firm hold of his hand. In a moment we were back in the study we had left what felt like centuries ago; there was Mr. Ketterley, nursing a black eye and a split lip, staring at the creature, the monster, we had accidently brought from beyond this world.

We all stared at her. In Charn she had been alarming; here she was terrifying, surrounded by ordinary things that looked as though they would break if she were to touch them. In all her beautiful wildness she looked a thousand times more alive than those you usually meet in London. Mr. Ketterley was bowing and rubbing his hands, looking frightened and very willing to do anything she might have asked. Next to her he was sniveling, pathetic.

“Watson, the door!” shouted Holmes, breaking the spell she seemed to have cast over the room. I quickly closed the door and stood in front of it, pointing my revolver at the queen. She looked down at me in distaste.

“Fool, is this how you would treat royalty in your world?”

“No,” said Holmes, “but it is how we treat murderers.”

“I would have thought you of all people would understand the reasons of State,” said she. “Well, it is of no consequence. Soon we will be married and these scum done away with. Where is your Head Magician? I wish to look him in the eye and see.”

“Ah- ah- Madam,” gasped Mr. Ketterley. “I- I am a Magician, not his, of course. I hope you will excuse any- er- liberty that was taken. I assure you, there was no intention-“

“You?” said the Queen in a terrible voice. In one stride she crossed the room and seized a handful of Mr. Ketterley’s wispy grey hair. “What was the King thinking, appointing you? You are but a common man, no royal blood within you, learning your faint imitation of Magic from rules and books. Pathetic!” She turned to Holmes. “I hope this slug is not indicative of the rest of your staff.” Holmes coughed.

“Fortunately he is not, as I have none,” said he. Queen Jadis stared at him.

“But you are a King!”

“I am no King,” said Holmes. “If I were, then you would have a bullet through your head.”

“Holmes!” I said.

“Or perhaps not,” he amended, “for I can see very well Watson refusing God Himself if accepting meant violating his moral code.” The Queen looked from one of us to the other.

“You are nothing but a commoner then?” she asked Holmes. “What of the Mark I saw and your royal bearing?”

“I cannot account for the Mark, as I am not involved in any sort of Magic or sorcery,” said Holmes. “And my bearing is my own; I cannot change it. Perhaps it has something to do with some distant relatives on my mother’s side, the royal family of France.”

“Ah! You are a noble, then, not a King.”

“I assure you I am not a noble. I am a consulting detective.”

“What is your trade?”

“I solve the cases people bring to me, either because the Scotland Yard has given up or because the police consider it coincidence or below their interest. Occasionally those of the Yard, especially an Inspector named Lestrade, will come to me with a police case they need my considerable expertise on.”

“Well,” said the Queen, obviously not understanding a word my companion had said and trying not to show it, “if you are not a King, our marriage cannot take place. I shall build my kingdom in this world a different way.” She turned to me. “Kneel, slave,” she said in a voice so powerful that I almost obeyed, but I managed to recover myself and stand firm.

“I will not let you free to terrorize London,” said I.

“London? Is that where we are? Well, it is a large city no doubt. You!” She pointed at Mr. Ketterley. “Procure for me at once a chariot or a flying carpet or a well-trained dragon, or whatever is usual for royal and noble persons in your land. Then take me to a place where I can get clothes and jewels and slaves fit for my rank. Tomorrow I will begin the conquest of the world.”

“I- I would go for a cab,” Mr. Ketterley stammered, “but, you see, the gentleman here is blocking my way.” She looked back at me.

“Kneel, slave,” she said again, and this time I found it harder to resist. I stumbled backwards until my back was pressed against the oaken door.

“What are you doing?” said Holmes. Jadis turned to him.

“Though you deny it, nobility is written on your every feature. Tell your manservant to obey me and you shall be rewarded with a much higher position than you now occupy when I have taken the throne.”

“I am afraid that I cannot do that in good conscience,” said Holmes, “and even if I did I doubt that Watson would obey.” The Witch drew up to even greater height and drew back her hand as though to strike my friend. With a shout I pulled my trigger and the Witch Jadis spasmed with a horrible scream as the bullet struck her left shoulder. For a moment I felt some relief, but then she whirled around to me, eyes ablaze with fury and not at all diminished despite the blood flowing freely from her.

“Fool! Slave! Worm! How dare you injure me, Jadis, Queen of this world and all others?” Then in one swift movement she had reached out and broken my wrist with a sickening crack. My gun dropped and I brought in my arm protectively, but before I could make a sound she lifted me up and threw me across the room. I had a brief glimpse of the corner of the fireplace racing towards me, then a crash, a burst of horrible pain, and I knew no more.

***

I awoke in my own bed at Baker Street, and for a moment I wondered whether the whole affair had not been simply a strange dream brought on, perhaps, by the oysters I had eaten the night before.

That illusion was shattered by the numbed pain that seemed to encompass my whole body and my bedraggled friend snoozing by my side, his body slumped in a kitchen chair and his hand clenching my wrist as though checking for a pulse. My throat was itchy and dry, and I looked around for a glass of water, unintentionally shifting as I did so. Even that subtle movement sent a stab of pain through me, and I gasped. Instantly my friend awakened.

“Watson,” he said softly. “Watson, are you all right, my dear fellow? How do you feel?”

“Water,” I croaked. Wordlessly he handed me a glass. “Strange and numb. I don’t understand… quite… what happened. The last thing I remember was that horrible woman and being thrown across a room.”

“You remember perfectly well,” said Holmes. “But there will be time enough for catching you up to the conclusion of this very interesting case. Here, my dear Watson, eat this.” He handed me a plate with some sliced apples on it. I ate them without complaint, for I was ravenous, and it seemed that with every bite my pain ebbed away until it faded into a mere memory. Holmes watched me intensely as I ate, and when I had finished he nodded to himself, satisfied.

“Good, Watson,” he said. “I have no doubt that in time you will make a full recovery. You gave us all quite a scare, old fellow.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly my fault, Holmes,” said I. “What did happen after the Queen knocked me out?” Holmes smiled, obviously uncomfortable.

“Ah, that,” he said, “is a story I may one day tell you in its entirety. Suffice to say, it was interesting, and had all those trappings which would translate well into one of your little stories. A talking lion, a magic tree, even an evil Witch.”

“Holmes…” I began. Holmes held up a hand.

“I will tell you soon enough, my dear Watson,” he said. “For now, please rest. I will wake you if you are required for a case.” Softly he closed the door to my room, and I sunk into a peaceful slumber borne out of true weariness.


	6. My Dear Watson

My dear Watson,

I am afraid that some apologies are in order, good fellow. You asked me, and rightly, for the details of what happened after the Witch threw you, and I told you that it could wait for you to rest. Though your current slumber attests to the validity of my excuse, it was not my only reason for refusing to confess the whole of my experience to you.

I am shaken, my dear Watson. It pains me greatly to admit that. I am shaken, not only by the shock of finding Magic and worlds beyond ours, but by the dangerous shave you had with death. I once told you that besides yourself I have no friends, and the truth of that statement still holds true, now perhaps more than ever. This depth and type of feeling is utterly alien to me, and I surprised myself today by the intense pain that was brought to me by the idea that you might be lost to me forever.

I know not how much longer you will sleep, so I will go straight to the tale, but first let me make this plain. There are things written here that I am ashamed of now, things that would not recommend me in your moral eyes. Know, Watson, that all I did, good or ill, was borne out of my complete love and respect for you. I beg that you do not judge me too harshly.

When the Witch threw you I froze. Time seemed to stretch into one horrible moment when I knew that you were dead or soon would be. I raced for you, stupidly forgetting  Jadis, and felt for your pulse. It was there but slowing, and I could plainly see that you were broken and bleeding beyond what anyone, even you, could fix. I turned to the Witch. My mind was spinning, completely blank except for one word, thrumming in the background like a heartbeat or a prayer: "Watson."

"How dare you?" My voice sounded absurdly steady to my ears.

"What?" said the Witch. "I would have thought you grateful for my masterful discipline of your manservant." In that moment I hated her, Watson. Even looking at her revolted me, thinking that she could ever even contemplate touching you... But I digress. It is over now, in any case.

"How _dare_ you?" I said again, then I launched myself at her, fully intending to strangle her or tear her apart with my bare hands. He sidestepped me and clipped me on the back of my head. For a moment the world went black, then I was staring at the ceiling. I scrambled up unsteadily, but Jadis had fled.

"She's got out into London!" Digory exclaimed. Without a word I raced out the door and through the unfamiliar house, Digory and Polly struggling to keep up. I burst out the front doors to see a sight that would have been almost humorous under different circumstances.

The Witch was commanding a hansom cab, standing on the roof with reins in hand, driving the reddish horse in circles. A man I supposed to be the cab driver was trying to come up beside the horse to calm it.

"Now, Missie, let me get at 'is 'ead. You don't want any bad business 'ere, now do you?" he said. With a jerk of the reins Jadis made the terrified beast turn toward the good man, smashing the cab to pieces against a lamppost. Amazingly, she didn't fall, simply jumped onto the horse and ripped the lamppost from the ground.

"Dog! How dare you command the Empress Jadis!" The cabbing grabbed the horse's reins and began to speak soothingly into its ear, ignoring the iron whipping dangerously past his head.

"Now!" I shouted, grasping her heel. For a moment it looked as though she would over-balance and fall, but then I felt a hand grasp my coattails and felt the sensation of leaving London yet again.

We emerged in the woods again. I looked around, stopping to catch my breath for a moment. Digory and Polly were there, as was the Witch, who I was happy to not looked very ill. The cabby and the horse had also come to the wood.

"That's right, old boy," said the cabby. The horse was quickly calming under the peaceful influence of the wood and trotted over to a pool to drink.

"Quick," said Polly. "Greens!" I was still holding onto the Witch's heel, the children my coat. One of the cabby's hands was on his horse, who still held the Witch on its back. So we found ourselves sinking into darkness. There was a short pause.

"Oughtn't we be nearly there now?" said Polly. 

"We are there, or somewhere at any rate," I said. "We're standing on something solid. However, I can't see a thing through this blasted darkness."

"Perhaps its night," said Digory. 

"This is not night," said the Witch. "This is an empty world. This is Nothing."

"Nothing? That's ridiculous," I said. "It must be something, for we're standing on it."

"Now then, now then," said the cabby's. "Keep cool everyone, that's what I say. No bones broken, anyone? Good. Now, if we've fallen into some diggings, someone will come and get us out presently, see! And if we're dead- which I don't deny it might well be- you got to remember there're worse things 'at can 'appen and a chap's got nothing to fear if 'e's led a decent life. And if you ask me, I think the beat thing to do to pass the time would be to sing a 'ymn."

He struck up at once, and the children joined him, but I found that I couldn't. I was struck with intense melancholy, for his simple, down-to-earth attitude reminded me of you, my dear Watson. 

The hymn was nearly ended qhen the cabby suddenly stopped singing. "Hush," he said. We all listened.

In the a voice had begun to sing in low notes that seemed to vibrate through tally marrow. It was wordless, almost timeless, but it was beyond comparison, the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. I cannot describe it, Watson, but every particle under our feet seemed to emote that blessed noise. It was almost too great to bear.

"Gawd," said the cabby. "Ain't it loverly?"

Suddenly the sky was blazing with thousands of twinkling stars much larger and brighter than any of this world. They joined with the first voice in high, silvery voices of their own, threading and dancing around it. I would swear on my life that the First Voice had brought them into being, for it was singing louder and in triumph, and the stars sang loudly with it. Then the voices in the sky began to fade away. Something else was happening.

Far, far away the horizon was turning grey. A light wind smelling like the damp earth of springtime began to blow. The sky grew steadily paler, and you could see shapes of hills silhouetted against it. All that time the Voice sang.

The Voice rose with the sun. Its beams shot around the land, illuminating it for us all to see. We were in a valley through which a broad, swift river wound, flowing toward the sunshine. There were no plants or animals there, but the soil was dark and rich, and I knew that when the Voice commanded plants would spring up and animals would roam. The air itself was full of life, and I breathed it in, content with the scene. Then I saw the singer.

It was a Lion. Huge, shaggy, magnificent, it stood facing the rising sun. Its mouth was open in song. I stepped forward, unable to stop myself. Dimly I heard the others arguing, but the music thrummed within my ears and drowned all else out.

Suddenly the song became softer and lilting. My breath caught in my throat. A mat of grass great beneath my feet, spreading from the Lion like a pool. As I watched trees and bushes pop up a shout distracted me from the beauty.

"Stop!" Jadis cried. "Stand back! No, further back. If anyone goes within ten paces of the children, I will rip his legs off!" I felt the anger towards her, forgotten with the song, come back in full force. It seemed worse, even, in a place I knew you would have enjoyed so well. I stepped between the Witch and the children, glaring up at her.

"Oh, look!" Digory said. "The Lion is coming nearer." And so it was. The Lion propelled to and fro, making a winding trail toward us. The trees and plants popped up around it. As it came closer at its slow, heavy pace I felt a flicker of fear within me.

The Witch stumbled backwards. Her eyes bulges from her face and she was mouthing words I couldn't recognize (and you know I can read lips, Watson, so I can only presume they were not English or any other language I know). The Lion let out a low growl, glaring at her. She let out a blood-curdling shriek and ran. In a few moments she was lost among the newly grown trees. I wished to give chase, to avenge you who I believed to be dead or dying, but I could not move. I was paralyzed in awe as the majestic beast came steadily closer. It paid no attention to me or the children as it passed between us. I was trembling, but my arm reached out on its own accord to run its fingers through the golden mane.

The Lion turned its head toward me and gazed with solemn amber eyes. My heart nearly stopped beating in my chest. In that moment I was laid bare before His eyes. He saw everything, my thoughts, my actions, my innermost desires, and I knew somehow that He found me lacking. Then He turned away from me and continued on His path.

"Good God," I murmured.

"Well, 'e's a fair sight, to be sure," said the cabby. "But I feel safe 'bout 'in all the same. 'E's wild, but 'e ain't dang'rous, if you take my meaning. Leastwise not to law-abidin' folk."

"I believe you're right," said I. "He isn't tame, to be sure."

"Well, I think He's beautiful," said Polly. "Do you suppose He can speak?"

"If He can't,  He's certainly intelligent enough," I said.

"Well, 'e's a right mercy, I'd say. 'Is singin's got Strawberry all calm and quiet after w'at t'at Witch did to 'im. I'm feeling years younger myself; t'is climate's like a bloomin' land of youth."

"Do you really think so?" Digory said excitedly. "Do you think there's anything here to cure Mother?"

"Well, now, I don't think I could say," said the cabby. A jolt seemed to go through me. This place, wherever it was, was definitely Magic. And if there wasn't a cure here, there were other pools. Surely if I searched them I would find something that could heal your seemingly fatal wounds or, if you had passed, perhaps even bring you back from the dead. I shivered with the thought, for even thinking ot seemed a horrible sin against God. Consider it a mark of my affection for you that I almost instantly vowed to carry out that terrible thought. 

"Perhaps we should simply ask Him," I said, and I marched off after the Lion without waiting for any answer. It was only when a small hand slipped into mine that I looked around and down. Digory looked up at me with wide, clear eyes.

"If He does have a cure for Mother, I'm sure He'll have one for your friend," said the boy. "And He seems like the sort who would give a cure if He could."

We came to the edge of a grove, the cabby and Polly trailing behind us, and stopped. The Lion was still singing, but His song had changed again. It had an energizing wildness to it that made one want to do all kinds of things, anything except stand calmly in one place. It's tune turned me wild. I trembled, gripping Digory's hand tighter. The land was rising in mounds. Some were large, aome were small, but all swelled and burst and an animal appeared.

The Lion was walking among His new creations. He touched noses with them, always a pair of each kind of animal. They left their groups together and followed the Lion. Eventually they stood in a large circle around Him, so silent you could hear the Lion's tail swishing.

The Lion never blinked. He stared at the ring of animals. Gradually the largest shrunk slightly and the smallest grew in size. Many stood on their hind legs, and all seemed to concentrate as though trying to understand a summons that we were not privileged to hear. Then the Lion opened his mouth, breathing out a long, warm breath. The animals swayed as though in a wind. The sky sang again, and a deep, clear voice began to speak.

"Narnia, Narnia, Narnia, awake. Love. Think. Speak. Be walking trees. Be talking beasts. Be divine waters."

 


	7. The Lion's Voice

At the Lion's voice shouting for Narnia to awaken we found ourselves trembling. It wasn't as though it was an unpleasant or cruel voice, yet it made us tremble all the same. Please excuse me, my dear Watson, if my narrative is not precisely clear. You know I do not have your talent with the pen, and I think that in describing the Lion's voice even you would have been at loss. It was, as they say, beautiful and terrible at the same time.

"Hail Aslan," cried all the animals. "We hear and obey. We are awake. We love. We think. We speak. We know."

"But please," said a snorting voice, "we don't know very much yet." It was the cabby's horse, Strawberry.

"Creatures, I give you yourselves," said the Lion. "I give you forever this land of Narnia. Love it and cherish it, but do not go back to the ways of the Dumb Beasts lest you become like them yourselves. For out of them you were taken and into them you can return. Do not so."

"No, Aslan, we won't, we won't," said them all.

"Now is our chance," I said. Digory gave my hand a squeeze, and I led our little group into the circle where the Beasts had broken up and begun to speak to each other. The Lion was still in the center, conversing gravely with a few of them. I was overcome with fear, and I nudged Digory forward. The boy cleared his throat.

"Please- Mr. Lion- Aslan- Sir," Digory stammered. "Could you- may I- please, will you give me something from this country to make Mother well!"

"This is the Boy," said Aslan, looking not at us but at the Animals he had been conversing with. "This is the Boy who did it."

"What did he do?" I said, suddenly regretting putting Digory on the spot.

"Son of Adam," said the Lion to Digory. "There is an evil Witch abroad in my new land of Narnia. Tell these good Beasts how she came here." Digory stared at the Lion for a moment, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"I brought her, Aslan," he said at last in a low voice.

"For what purpose?"

"We wanted to get her out of our world and back into her own. I thought I was taking her back to her own place."

"How came she to be in your world, Son of Adam?"

"By- by Magic." Digory obviously hadn't said enough. "It was my Uncle, Aslan. He sent us out of our own world by magic rings, at least I had to go because he sent Polly first,  and then we met the Witch in a place called Charn and she just held onto us when-"

"You met the Witch?" Aslan said with a hint of a growl in his voice.

"She woke up." Digory turned very white. "I mean, I woke her. Because I wanted to see what would happen if I struck the bell. Polly didn't want to. It wasn't her fault. I- I fought her. I know I shouldn't have. I think I was a bit enchanted by the writing under the bell."

"Do you?" Aslan said. I opened my mouth to stop the interrogation,  but Digory shook his head.

"No," he said. "No, I wasn't. I was only pretending." He paused. "I'm sorry, sir." The Lion nodded, and I felt instinctively that, though He was far from over with Digory, He had forgiven the boy. Then He turned His golden eyes to me.

"Son of Adam," He said. "You have long wished to speak. Do so now." I opened my mouth only to find the words I had ready fail me. "Do not be afraid."

"Sir," I finally said, "though I cannot deny that Digory may share a part in the guilt, he cannot be held completely responsible."

"It's all right, Mr. Holmes," said Digory. "You don't have to-"

"This Son of Adam is wise," said Aslan. "You will do well to listen to what he has to say. Now speak. Who else shares his guilt?"

"Well, for one, there's the Witch herself. There is also Mr. Andrew Ketterley,  who made the rings that ultimately caused all this mischief. And then there's the woods itself, with its deceptive calm and identical pools. If it were not for that we would not have come here..." I trailed off as I saw the look in the Lion's eyes.

"Is this woods a part of her dominion?" He said. I shook my head.

"No, no, it is like a poison to her."

"Then why did you bring her to your world instead of simply leaving her there?" Aslan said.

"She regained strength quite suddenly and grabbed onto Digory. She must have been becoming used to it or something of that nature."

"How could she become used to it?"

"We were there for a bit of time. It must have been enough regardless."

"Why were you delayed? Surely you didn't have any pressing business in the woods."

"We were simply- we were delayed because she was trying to kill my dear friend Watson!" I burst out.

"But in her weakened state you surely overpowered her."

"Yes, yes, easily."

"Than my question still stands." 

"After we got her off Watson- she was trying to strangle him, by God- we had to decide what to do with her." I paused, but Aslan just gazed at me steadily. "I wished to shoot her, have it over with."

"Why did you wish it?"

"What are you talking about? She was trying to kill my friend. I simply wished to prevent her from doing so ever again, though in that I have failed." My chest felt compressed by the weight of the Lion's gaze. "I was enraged that she would dare to hurt him and I-" I stopped and lowered my gaze. "I may have made a mistake." You must have an idea, my dear Watson, of how those words stuck and left a foul taste in my throat. Aslan looked at me steadily. "Please forgive me of my fault." I glanced up when I felt the Lion's cool, velvety nose touch my forehead lightly.

"You are forgiven, my Son." As His warm breath washed over me, I felt relief sag within me. I leaned into His nose as though I too was a cat. The warm puffs of air from his nostrils seemed to chase away the cold that had settled over my soul since I had resolved to destroy the Witch and find a way to save you, if only for a moment. Then Aslan pulled away from me and turned to the cabby and Polly. 

"Son of Adam," He said to the cabby, "I have known you long. Do you know me?"

"Well, no sir," said the cabby. "Leastwise,  not in an ordinary manner of speaking. Yet I feel somehow, if I may make so free, as tho' we've met before."

"It is well," said the Lion. "You know better than you think you know, and you shall live to know me better yet. Your coronation shall take place soon, but first for the others,  that they might fix the fault of Man."

"Begging your pardon, sir," said the cabby, "but I ain't no sort of chap for being a king or a job like that. I never 'ad much eddycation, you see." Aslan let out a booming, routing laugh.

"We shall argue this matter later, my Son," He said. "For now know this: if you can farm this land, rule its Talking Beasts fairly, and fight any of the enemies that will arise, you shall have done all that a King should do." He turned to Polly. "And you, little Daughter, are welcome. Have you forgiven the Boy for the violence he did you in the Hall of Images in the desolate palace of Charn?" Polly glanced at Digory. 

"Yes," she said firmly. "That is, if he'll make up."

"He has," said Aslan. "This is good. Evil will come of the evil that Adam's race has brought, but Adam's race shall help to heal it. Sons of Adam," He said to Digory and I, "are you ready to undo the wrong that you have done to my sweet country of Narnia on the very day of its birth?" Digory and I looked at each other.

"Well, I don't see what we can do," said Digory. "You see, the Queen ran away and-"

"I asked, are you ready?" Aslan said. Feeling queerly calm, I answered. 

"We are," I said. Then u did a very stupid thing that, looking back, seems like one of those that you would be angry at me for doing. "But Digory and I both have loved ones quite close to death. Do you have something that can cure them?" By the end of this I was speaking desperately fast. I was more afraid that He would say no than I had been of anything in my life.

I must have also retained some of my Christian fear, for I was looking down at the Lion's great paws. But in the end I tore my eyes away and looked upon His face, searching for some sign that He was at least considering my impossible request. To my surprise His face was bent quite near my own and great shining tears the size of my fiat stood in His eyes. He seemed as heartbroken as I.

"My sons, my sons," said Aslan. "I know. Grief is great. Few in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another. But I have to think of hundreds of years in the life of Narnia.  The Witch whom you have brought into this world will come back to Narnia."

"But Watson-" I said. The little hope I had gathered began to drain away as the Lion's eyes narrowed.

"Patience, Son of Adam," He almost growled, but I would not be deterred. Aslan seemed to understand and sympathize for now. I had to get the instrument of your salvation before His sympathy faded, as I was sure it would, and before you died.

"Watson is fatally injured. I cannot wait long here. Give me something, anything, to save him, and I will return as quickly as I am able and do whatever you deem necessary to vanquish the Witch. I pledge my word." The Lion began to pace in a close circle around me, and I did my best not to flinch.

"You wish to leave with your cure and never return to make my land of Narnia right again," He growled.

"I gave my word, and my word is rarely broken," said I. I will admit, Watson, that that solution had suggested itself. Still, I had no doubt that if I decided on that course that the Lion would not allow me to go and save you.

"You mean well, Son of Adam," said Aslan. "But if you leave Narnia you will never return, and I cannot allow you to leave before you have planted a tree of protection for my sweet land." His face softened. "But do not worry, my son. What mistakes you have made and sins you have committed have been born out of love. For this I do make my promise: your friend will not die before you have returned to your world."

At His words my heart grew cold within me and my brain turned lethargic. The Lion had told me on no uncertain terms that you would die. I knew that it was my fault, that my insistence on immediate remedy had put it forever out of my grasp. My only hope, at least in my mind, was to search every world for a cure for death or, if I was unsuccessful, to never return to our world again. That way you would perhaps recover and, so long as I stayed away, live your life without me. The thought made me melancholy. It pained me that I would perhaps never see you again so soon after my return.

Digory agreed to our task and Aslan began to explain it to him in His predictably eloquent fashion. It all seemed to pass me by. I barely heard a word they were saying. I was too busy making calculations,  assessing how I would take on the task of searching the pools for your remedy, and lamenting how many useful things I had left behind in London. 

Not even the cabby's horse sprouting wings could do more than mildly surprise me. My heart and all other organs were encased in a new layer of ice. All the warmth from the Lion's breath had vanished. In this mind I left with Polly and Digory to the fateful garden.

 


	8. The Apple of Discord

I shall not spend an overlong time on our journey to the garden where we were to find the apple that would guard Narnia. I feel ridiculous enough writing a sentence like that. We spent the night in a valley, ate some taffy that Polly had in her pocket, and in time came to another valley. This valley, however, had a lake in it.

We landed about three-quarters up a small but steep hill. On climbing we found that all around the very top ran a high hedge. Just visible over the top were the upper branches of trees that were not only green, but blue and silver also. We walked halfway around the hedge before we found an entrance: high gold gates that faced east and were shut fast.

Only Digory and I dared to walk right up to the gates, but I am not sure that Polly and Strawberry would have been able to get any closer than they were. On the gates were an inscription, written in silver letters:

Come in by the gold gate or not at all,

Take my fruit for others or forbare,

For those who steal or those who climb my wall

Shall find their heart's desire and find despair. 

A shiver ran through me as I read those words. It wasn't logical, of course it wasn't,  but the instructions, strange as they were, seemed to be written for me specifically. I knew my heart's desire. If saving you brought despair upon me, so be it. At least I would try to follow as many commands as possible.

Digory and I went into the garden. It was an unnaturally quiet place, with not even the wind in the trees or the fountain making more than a murmur. A lovely scent was around up, striving to lift my spirits, but I refused. My purpose was singular and I felt if I gave into that promised happiness I would forget everything I had ever known.

When we saw the tree we knew instinctively that it was the one. It was in the counter of the garden, and large silver apples hung from its branches. Marching forward,  Digory plucked one of the apples from the branches, smelled it, then put it in his pocket. He stared up at the tree for a moment and seemed to come to a decision. He turned around only to gasp. I whirled to where he was looking.

It was the Witch.

I think you can well imagine, Watson, the anger that surged through me at the sight of her. I did not know whether to stay, rooted in my place, or to lunge forward and end her. In the end I stood, quivering with rage, and watched as she finished off the silver apple she had been eating. She looked stronger and prouder than ever, but her face was pale as marble, and juice dripped down her face like blood.

"King," said Jadis. "Do not run from me. I mean you no harm. If you do not stop and listen you will miss some knowledge that would make you happy all your life."

"You- you murdered Watson," I said. Digory was plucking at my sleeve, but I ignored him. "Why should I listen to you?"

"That fruit," the Witch said, "that apple is the apple of youth and of life, yet you and the boy will carry it back to the Lion, untasted. But if you eat it as I have, you will never grow old or die. We will be king and queen of this whole world- or of your world, should we decide to go back to it."

"What would be the use of living after all my friends have gone?" I said bitterly. 

"But your friends need not die," said the Witch. "Your manservant, who you seem so attached to, will be healed and immortal with one bite of the apple. Go back to your world using your Magic. A minute later you can be at your friend's bedside, giving him the fruit. Five minutes and the color will be coming into his cheeks and his wounds healing. He will tell you he feels stronger. Then he will fall asleep- a deep, happy sleep, untroubled by any ghosts, untroubled by the nightmares you created-"

"Stop, Witch!" I shouted breathlessly. I knew what she said was true. Digory was holding quite tightly to my sleeve now.

"By tomorrow he will be recovered. In a week you will be back to normal. All his wounds, physical and mental, will have been erased. All will be well again." There was a pause as I tried desperately to get command of my breathing.

"Can you promise this?" I said. "Can you be absolutely certain?" She smiled like a large beast about to make a kill.

"Infallibly," said the Witch.

"Don't,  Mr. Holmes," said Digory. "Aslan said-"

"What has the Lion ever done for you?" siad the Witch. "Your friend has been by your side."

"Always," I whispered.

"Of course he has. Why would you throw away a chance to repay him for all he's done for you?" My breath shuddered.

"Watson-" I said with difficulty, "Watson would not like it. He's... he's moral, a military man, a Godly man-"

"He needn't ever know," said the Witch. "You won't tell him how you got the apple. No one in your world will ever know this story."

"But I have to tell Watson. He would figure most of it out anyways, eventually," said I.

"Then use your Magic to wipe his mind of this whole business!" It was then, my dear Watson, that my mind stepped away from the precipice and back onto the moral foundation you had installed in it. Her mask of well-meaning concern was swept away, baring the rotten ugliness she hid beneath her cold beauty. I glared at her.

"Were it not for you, Watson would be well and with me. Yet now you are so worried about him! What's your game?"

"Mr. Holmes..." said Digory. 

"Don't listen to a word she says. She only wants to make you disobey Aslan. I may have destroyed any chance I had of saving my friend, but the Lion seems decent. I'm sure that if you ask, He will give you something to save your mother." Digory looked up at me, eyes filled with tears.

"But what if He doesn't?" said Digory. I smiled down at him.

"Then He'll have some very difficult questions to answer from Sherlock Holmes," said I. "Don't worry. I won't let Him allow your mother to die." Digory nodded and turned back to the Witch. 

"Go away," he said. "We're not interested in what you have to say." The Witch sneered at us.

"Go then, fools," she snarled. "Think of me when you lie old and weak and dying, and remember that you threw away the chance for endless youth! It won't be offered to you again." She turned and fled. I watched her back carefully, half afraid she would turn and kill us both, but she disappeared. Digory and I stood there a moment, breathing hard, then I fell to my knees and took Digory by the shoulders.

"Are you all right?" I demanded.

"I'm fine,"said Digory. "Are you?" I didn't respond immediately. I simply threw my arms around him in a desperate embrace. For a moment he tensed, and I worried that I had overstepped my bounds. I would never have dared to do anything like this in London. But he soon relaxed and tentatively embraced me in return.

"Don't worry about me," I said. I stood, one arm still around Digory. "Come. Let's leave this garden." Digory looked around at the trees and shrubs one last time. I have never understood your fondness for the country and nature, Watson. You know that I love nothing more than to race about London,  chasing criminals among the teeming populace, rejoicing in the steel and stone edifices around me. But as I stood in the garden, breathing in the air that seemed to be a creature itself, I began to understand the reverence you have always felt for nature. I even began to enjoy the calm that would have been unbearably boring and lonely before. Perhaps one day we shall get the cottage you always speak of so fondly.

"It's like Eden," said Digory in a small, awed voice. I squeezed him to me a little tighter.

"I think," I said, "that it may be what it is."

 


	9. The End of the Beginning

We had not taken long in the garden, so we were able to get back to Narnia by evening. The cabby's horse flew us and landed in front of Aslan. The children and I dismounted, and Digory walked up to Aslan. 

"I've brought you the apple you wanted, sir," said Digory. 

"Well done," said Aslan in a warm, rumbling voice. Digory smiled slightly, looking completely content as he gazed into the Lion's amber eyes. "For this fruit you have hungered and thirsted and wept. No hand but yours shall sow the seed of the Tree that is to be the protection of Narnia. Throw the apple toward the river bank where the ground is soft." Digory did as the Lion said. The apple fell with a soft thump on the riverside. Then Aslan turned to me.

"Have you learned much on your journey, Son of Adam?" He said.

"I believe so," said I. Aslan stood on His hind legs and put His paws on my shoulders.

"You did well in the garden, My Son," said Aslan, and I couldn't help how my heart swelled in pride from His light praise.

"How do you know?" I said.

"Do you not think that I know what happens in My land that I have created?" said Aslan. "I knew when I sent you there that you would face great temptation. I did not underestimate your resistance to the Witch." A worm of doubt and fear was beginning to wriggle in my guts.

"Sir," I said, breaking my eye contact with Him, "I- I fear that You overestimate my conduct in this affair. The truth of the matter is that I would have given into her had she not made a very serious miscalculation."

"And what was this miscalculation?" said the Lion. I couldn't hold back a fleeting smile.

"She suggested that, after I cured him, I should erase Watson's memory of this case," said I. "Obviously an impractical solution considering I have no magic to speak of, but the suggestion was enough to show me that she did not have my friend's best interests at heart."

"Yet you held out long enough to allow her to make her mistake," said Aslan, "and for that you shall be commended. The King and Queen of Narnia have a gift for you, My Son." I glanced over at the cabby and a woman I presume was his wife.

"I thank you, your majesties," I said. "But, Aslan, if You don't mind, I believe that they and You would be better served finding a cure for Digory's ailing mother." It was strange, Watson, to turn down a gift when I didn't know what it was, but it felt undeniably right. 

"In that case," said Aslan, "go, My Son, and pluck an apple from the tree." I looked up and saw while I had been distracted the apple had turned into a small tree. Digory walked forward, awe written on every feature, and all the animals began to cheer. He plucked the apple and put it in his pocket. I felt glad for him, but I was heavy of heart. There was hope for his mother, but I would never see you again.

"Son of Adam, what troubles you?" Aslan said to me. I clenched my jaw, and Aslan's eyes softened. "Go, My Son." My eyes flicked to His.

"What?" I said.

"You did not fall into temptation. Go, My Son, and take an apple for your friend." My breath caught in my lungs. It was too great a blessing to be true.

"I thought- I thought that you said he would die if I went back," I said.

"I said that he would remain alive for you to save," said Aslan. "Your curse was a blessing, nothing less."

"Will the apple save him?" I said. Aslan nodded.

"In your world the apple does not grant eternal life, but it will save your friend from even the moat grievous injuries." Aslan dropped down onto all fours. "Go. Save your Watson." I walked forth as though in a dream. I was half afraid that Aslan would change His mind and forbid me to take it and save you. But soon enough I reached the tree. I reached up, twisted the apple, and detached it from its branch. I cupped it in my hands tightly, painfully aware that it was your lifeline. Then the Lion gave a roar and I found myself back by the ruined cab and torn up lamppost, Digory and Polly at my side. It appeared that our whole adventure had taken no time at all.

Staring at the apple, I felt my heart jump into my throat. A tired cliche, Watson, but it was true. Even after Aslan told me to take the apple I hadn't been sure whether He would really let you live long enough for me to save you. Now I was almost certain.

"Mother!" Digory said. I nodded.

"Go to her, Digory," I said. "I'll find Watson."

"I'd better go home," said Polly. "I'm going to catch it for sure."

"Tell your mother that I found you," said I. "She did hire me to do so, after all." Polly blushed.

"She hired  _you_?" she said.

"Indeed," said I. "Now go." Polly scampered off. I turned to Digory. 

"Let's go," he said. I gave him a thin smile.

"Let's," I said.

Surely you can fill in the end of the story, my dear fellow. The apple was successful in reviving you, just as Aslan and the Witch had both said. Now you look more healthy than before I sat down to write this lengthy letter. As for myself, I can only say that I am... fine, more fine than I have been in a long time. Narnia has healed me, Watson, from all that I saw and did the last three years as I took down Moriarty's web, and I can only hope that it will heal you as well. For now I will be content to see you alive.

Sleep well, my dearest friend. This letter will be waiting for you in the morning.

Sherlock Holmes


End file.
